


the circus never dies (the act forever haunts the skies)

by twelvefeetdeeper



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Gen, Good Bro Dick Grayson, Good Bro Jason Todd, Multilingual Character, Romani Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26208766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvefeetdeeper/pseuds/twelvefeetdeeper
Summary: Five times a de-aged Dick Grayson surprised his family members and the one time they surprised himExcerpt:Tongue sticking out in concentration, Dick practically drowned his pancakes with syrup, and as he flipped the lid of the bottle closed he said, “I’m only working with Bruce so I can complete my mission.”And Jason, expecting the typical spiel about justice, asked, “What mission.”Dick’s face twisted into anger for a brief moment, and he arced a knife down to stab his food, and as the clang of metal on metal rang throughout the room, Dick spat out the words, “Killing Tony Zucco.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 33
Kudos: 589





	the circus never dies (the act forever haunts the skies)

Dick was tiny.

Of course, Jason knew how small eight-year-olds were, having been one himself- but Dick was this short thing with knobby elbows and even skinnier legs. He still had his unnatural grace and show man’s smile- all charming and gap-toothed and rosy-cheeked- but Jason couldn’t imagine this kid surviving one night on the Gotham streets. 

Well- that was sort of a lie. See, the kid was a wisp of a thing, sure, but he was charming and suave in a kiddie way, and he’d have done well in a gang, they always needed pretty faces. He even had Bruce wrapped around his pinkie. Even as he rested on the bed, Bruce hovered over him in a way so unlike himself, that for a minute Jason thought Bruce might’ve also gotten hit last night on patrol. 

It had been about two in the morning when Nightwing had notified Oracle about an odd disturbance in the northern Bludhaven docks. Jason hadn’t heard the original message, but Oracle had passed around the gist of it. Apparently there was a new wackjob running around the ‘Haven, passing out treats laced with an aging component, and Dick had managed to make contact with her for the first time. They’d arranged a meeting for the next hour and she’d bullshitted something about helping people find happiness within their younger bodies. Like usual, things got out of hand and Dick had overdosed, his age spirling further than the typical couple years until he was the eight-year-old laying before them. 

A half-hour later the cavalry had arrived, only to find Dick hiding in his tub, unable to recognize both his surroundings and the people claiming to be his family- except for Bruce of course. 

It hurt more than Jason thought it would’ve, seeing his older brother looking at him, unable to recognize him completely. It had hit Damian pretty hard to. 

The kid had hidden away in the corner as he glared at ‘Dickie’, as the family had taken to calling him that. Usually, when Damian got worked up like this it was Dick who would calm him down and unravel whatever was bothering him. Jason was never present for this, but Dick had once, after several shots, spilled all his Damian related tips, just in case anything went down when he wasn’t there. He should’ve paid attention, should’ve taken notes or some bullshit, but at the time it hadn’t felt important. 

It was a biweekly thing, getting drunk together and watching shitty reality TV. Jason got to relax with the one family member, except Alfred, who didn’t regularly annoy the shit out of him and Dick got to spill his soul to a person who would never remember by the time morning came.   
.  
They’d been getting on recently, excluding the occasional spat. They were the closest in age, had more in common, and though they hadn’t bonded as brothers originally, they found themselves settling into a comfortable friendship. 

Which was probably why Jason found himself staying over the next morning. They’d settled Dick into his old bedroom, unchanged from the years he’d spent until he left the manor at eighteen. Bruce had brought a cot next to Dick’s bed, and had spent the night alternating between naps and monitoring Dick’s vitals, unsure of the aftereffects after such a huge de-aging- Tim had declared that was what this was, but he’d blushed and stammered when Bruce questioned him about this. Jason had seen the weird shit Tim was into reading and if he were the kid he’d probably also hesitate at explaining fanfic to the great Batman. 

Whatever it was called, it hadn’t done anything too horrible after it occurred, save a minor fever. He’d slept straight through the night and late into the morning, long enough that everyone was getting pretty worried. So by the time lunch rolled around, Bruce was ready to get his son. 

Jason was the only one to follow him into Dick’s room, Tim too deep into his research on the drug and Damian firmly set in his anger at the entire ordeal. 

Bruce stared at the boy for a minute, face twisting into a mixture of grief, as he reached a hand out to gently shake the boy’s shoulder. Dick murmured something unintelligible, and he swatted a hand at Bruce before burrowing deeper into his blankets. 

It was… fucking adorable. 

There was a strange soft feeling in Jason’s core, like an unfamiliar warmth sitting there. He’d always liked children- the Red Hood was known for his overprotection of them- but there was a difference between a street kid and his brother. Was this how Dick felt about Damian? It probably wasn’t. Dick seemed to dance the line between brother and parent, but it worked out well for the kid. It might’ve been strange at first but Dick and Bruce co-parented the kid, with Talia of course, but with his real mother an ocean away it had fallen on Dick to pick up the slack seeing as Bruce wasn’t all that good with emotions. 

Except-

He was. It looked like he was falling back on old tricks, one’s long forgotten by the time Jason came around. And sure, he was older than Dick when Bruce got him, but he’d never seen Bruce like this ever. He’d forgotten that Bruce had raised an eight-year-old kid, one still fresh-faced and new and still in need of a parental figure. 

Bruce sat next to Dick’s hip, the indent forming forcing Dick’s body to roll towards him. Blearily, he blinked up at Bruce and flashed him a sleepy smile. He wiggled under the blankets, as Bruce ran a hand through his curly bedhead. 

“How are you feeling, chum?” 

Dick raised an eyebrow, which was pretty impressive seeing as most people couldn’t raise one eyebrow at a time, let alone an eight-year-old, “Fine? Why’re you being weird?”

The accent threw Jason for a loop. He couldn’t quite place it, the vowels were middle eastern but he shaped them like his mouth was made for a Slavic language. And it seemed stilted like he had to pick his words carefully and picture the way his mouth had to move before speaking them. He never would’ve guessed that Dick had once had an accent, even if the way he spoke as an adult held that foreign quality. 

Jason had heard Dick’s Robin speak before, his loud quips and iconic cackle echoing through the alleys and over the rooftops, sending criminals running even before they could catch sight of the boy wonder. And even lacking the education he now had, Jason had known back then that something about Robin’s speech was strange- words not quite right and phrases and expressions from around the world. Even Nightwing sounded different, words spoken with that Bludhaven lilt and drawled vowels, a bastardized Jersey accent mashed with a distinct yet unidentifiable foreign quality. He never sounded like anything but the shadows of Bludhaven, every trace of his Gotham accent erased. 

But Dick- his voice held no accent of any kind. It didn’t sound like any city in particular, not even Gotham. He’d mostly attributed that to Dick’s upper-class status and had assumed that he hadn’t been exposed to the slang or inflections of the streets. So it had never even occurred to Jason that might’ve had one when he was younger, let alone one so strange that it sounded like Dick hadn’t spoken English that often.

It didn’t bother him or anything, he wasn’t one of those elitists, but it still seemed strange that he’d never known that. 

He blinked back to attention. Bruce and Dick had been talking all the while and he wasn’t sure what he missed but Bruce seemed to be taking his temperature. 

Hand over Dick’s forehead, Bruce was wilting under Dick’s suspicion because even as a kid Dick was fluent in body language. He’d always been able to read the entire family, especially the two Wayne’s, but it looked like that skill had been obtained right around Dick’s placement with Bruce because he was reading Bruce’s odd behavior just as easily as he could as an adult. 

He removed his hand after a moment or two, “Well, your foreheads hot, so you’re definitely sick.” 

Dick sat up, comforter pooling on his lap to reveal Damian’s shirt on him, it was clearly oversized but it was the best they’d had. Dick glanced at it for a moment, face twisting into confusion, but he gave his head a little shake and fell forward until his forehead was pressed against Bruce’s shoulder. 

“My head feels full, B.” 

Bruce paused, flashed a concerned expression in Jason’s general direction, before he gently coaxed Dick to lean his head back so he could ask, “Like a head cold?” 

“Not sick,” Dick amended, “Just- full. It’s like there's too much in my brain. It doesn’t- I don’t know.” He mumbled off the last part into Bruce’s shirt.

The head thing was probably Dick’s brain suppressing his memories, or at least that’s what Jason was hoping. It wasn’t a known side effect of the drug, but Dick had been given an excessive amount and that had to have fucked with the results. 

In one swift motion, Bruce lugged Dick into his arms and rested him on his hip, Dick’s head resting on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck. “C’mon, Alfred saved some pancakes for you.”

Bruce didn’t try to explain anything, which was slightly annoying, because the entire family was going to be on edge while trying to keep things secret. Dick.. didn’t know he wasn’t really this age. It was probably going to be impossible to explain- Dick being only a few months into Bruce’s care and probably unused to all the weird side effects of being a vigilante. 

When Jason stepped into the general area of the room, revealing himself to Dick, the kid stiffened in Bruce’s hold, arms tightening around his neck. 

“This is Jason,” Bruce said, tilting his head in his direction, “He’s.. going to be staying with us for a few days with his brothers.” 

Dick regarded him with suspicion, but he gave a sharp nod as he stared at him. 

For a man carrying a child in his arms, Bruce was incredibly sure-footed as he strode down the stairs and to the dining room. As they passed countless doors and halls, Dick took in it all, eyes focused as he memorized every inch of the place. It seemed he hadn’t let go of his suspicion entirely, and still held himself fairly guarded. 

When they made it to the kitchen Bruce swung Dick off of his hip and settled him into a chair and he and Jason took the seats beside him. Alfred had already been there it seemed because there was a fresh plate of pancakes sitting in front of Dick. 

It was quiet for a minute, which was pretty weird considering how chatty older Dick was, but the boy was too busy sliding some of the pancakes onto his own plate. Jason had already eaten hours ago, but he grabbed one too because no one in their right mind would miss out on Alfred’s cooking. 

Bruce however just scrolled through his phone, probably trying to find out whatever Tim had discovered. After one text he jolted out of his seat, causing Dick to glance up at him, eyes brimming with curiosity. 

“It’s Tim.” Bruce said to Jason, “I’ve got to head down real quick to help. Dick, chum, think you’ll be fine with Jason?”

At the boy's hesitant shrug, Bruce ruffled Dick’s hair before turning on his heel and out the door. 

The sudden buzz of Jason’s phone startled him, and when he turned it on he read the text from Bruce- Looking for Dick’s old stuffed animal, Zitka, in the attic. Call Alfred if you need help. He turned his phone off and slid it into his jacket pocket. 

Next to him, Dick shrunk into himself, holding tense with a shyness Jason had never seen him poses before. In an effort to lighten the mood, he glanced down at the kid and asked, “So, how old are you Dickie?”

It worked, and Dick smiled shyly at his plate, “Eight.”

“That’s so old!” He used that excessively sweet voice all adults used for kids, but it made Dick giggle so the embarrassment seemed worth it. 

“But your way older.” Dick laughed, stretching out the a in way. 

He fake pouted and his exaggerated expression caused Dick to fall over in a peel of giggles, his little body coming to slouch onto Jason’s. Jason froze, shock flitting across his face.

But he just grinned and let him catch his breath before Dick righted himself again. He kept glancing at Jason out of the corner of his eye, mouth opening and closing several times before he finally decided to ask, “So who are you?”

Shit. 

“Bruce already told you. My name's Jason.”

But Dick just shook his head, “No, I mean.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “What’s your superhero name?”

His surprise must have shown because Dick spoke again, “You hafta be a cape because Bruce doesn’t have friends, only Batman does, like Uncle Clark and Diana.”

“Well,” He started, slightly amused by Dick’s bluntness, “I go by Red Hood, and I know you’re Robin.”

Dick nodded, apparently appeased. He didn’t seem all that worried that his identity was compromised, but when they got him at his apartment he had seen Batman with a man wearing a red helmet, so he must’ve connected the dots. 

Cutting into his pancakes, Jason said, “I usually do my own patrol, so I don't work with the Bat like you.” It was a partial truth, but those kinds of lies were the easiest to use. 

Tongue sticking out in concentration, Dick practically drowned his pancakes with syrup, and as he flipped the lid of the bottle closed he said, “I’m only working with Bruce so I can complete my mission.”

And Jason, expecting the typical spiel about justice, asked, “What mission.”

Dick’s face twisted into anger for a brief moment, and he arced a knife down to stab his food, and as the clang of metal on metal rang throughout the room, Dick spat out the words, “Killing Tony Zucco.” 

Jason froze. 

Kill. Dick Grayson, the golden boy, the perfect son, the embodiment of everything a hero was meant to be, wanted to kill. It felt like an oxymoron because the words couldn’t have possibly gone together. He was the universal constant, a hero whose mission would always be that of the righteous no matter the world. 

“Dickie,” He spoke stiffly, still unable to wrap his head around the conversation, “Batman doesn’t kill- and Robin can’t either.”

Instantly, breakfast forgotten, Dick responded, “Why do you care what I do- huh? He killed my family so I’m going to kill him.” He looked so angry, so unlike how Jason would’ve pictured a young Dick. 

Firmly, though still unsure, Jason said, “Killing is wrong- and you know this.” It wasn’t true, because some people were irredeemable, but Dick didn’t see things the way Jason did- he’d never met someone he didn’t try to save. 

“How would you know?” Dick retorted, awkwardly scooting his chair away. “Everyone is acting weird and lying and I hate it.”

“No one’s lying to you Dick.” 

Dick looked unconvinced, “Bruce has grey hair, I saw another Robin last night, and your phone looks weird.”  
“My phone?”

Dick reached down and pulled an item out from under his thigh, and when he slammed it on the table Jason could see it was, in fact, his phone. 

“You little pickpocket.” Jason grumbled. Dick must’ve grabbed it when he’d leaned against Jason’s side. He should’ve known the kid warmed up to him too quickly. 

“Now,” Dick said, eyes glaring into Jason’s, “I want to talk to Bruce and find out whatever you all are hiding.”


End file.
